chapter song - fetish by Selena gomez

Physical therapy was absolute hell.

If constantly tasting my own blood from biting my lip so hard in frustration was a form of therapy then fuck, I'd been cured about twenty times. But those months feeling like the dirt on the bottom of everyones' boots, with barely anyone coming to see me in the hospital, with the therapists as the only people asking if I was okay for weeks. That was rock bottom.

Which is what therapy started to feel like.

An endless cesspool. Pain, more pain. A bit of relief. Clapping when I could move my arm over my head. And me, feeling like a monkey that really deserved more of a treat for putting up with all those experiments.

If it wasn't the lowest point in my life, it probably wouldn't have been as bad as it seems when I look back. When I think about trying to be optimistic to just be able to move normally after a hit that could have left me paralyzed.

A little more to the left and about twenty centimeters down. Spine would have taken the hit. No movement would have come from my legs again. And fuck, I probably should have been relieved while they got my body back to health. I should have cried tears of relief instead of wanting to throw things against the wall.

Maybe I really am just selfish. Because a part of me - sitting in the therapy room - not being able to breathe properly while my fingers spasmed through an episode, wished that maybe the hit had just taken me out.

Physical therapy was the worst of hell for me.

But this, sitting in a room full of mostly elderly people with a paintbrush clasped awkwardly between all my fingers, is a little better than that.

"Jesus, Ty," Franny sighs, grabbing my hand as she stops beside where I'm sitting in the back of the numerous semi-circles of easels. She unclasps my fingers and rolls her eyes. "Do you even know how to hold a pencil? Hold the paintbrush the same."

I huff and shift the way I'm holding the intimidatingly large brush. She non-so-gently moves my thumb into a more comfortable position and grins, nose scrunching up.

"There, perfect," she says, admiring her work before glancing around the room. It's a back room in the recreation centre and the walls are covered in artwork and community postings. The fluorescent lights are absolute annihilation to my eyes but if I can put up with the bright yellow brick walls of this place then I can put up with horrendous lighting.

Most of the people in this art class are already in the room, picking a stool to sit at which has an easel perched directly in front. The majority are on the elderly side but there is a group of what appears to be middle aged women chatting and setting up in the front row. There is a bottle of wine in one of their hands and I raise an eyebrow at Franny.

"Uh, you didn't say this was an alcoholic outing," I point out.

She scoffs, glancing over at the women who are now whipping out red solo cups from fuck-knows-where. "You want to get afternoon-drunk on a weekday with the moms from school?"

"I will get wasted with them," I state.

"Oh, oh really?" Franny teases with a grin.

"I have absolutely no shame, I will. Hey ladies-"

Franny snorts out loud as I stand up from my stool, taking a step forward towards the front row, eyes on the wine bottle. An arm wraps around my waist from the side and Franny barrels into me, pushing my body back towards the stool.

"Stop it," she whispers loudly, a laugh catching from her lips.

I grin down at her and without thinking, wrap an arm around her, keeping Fran's body against my side. We gently stumble back over to my easel and Franny hides her smile in my hoodie.

"Come on, teach," I murmur. "Give me a one-on-one class."

"You're so annoying," she says. "I have to finish setting up."

Franny tries to tug out of my arms but I tighten them quickly, bringing my spare arm around her side and squeezing her into a gentle hug, my chin resting on the top of her head.

"Ty, come on," she groans, but her arms are around my waist and I can feel her fingers gripping the back of my hoodie.

"Nah, I'm comfy."

"I have to work, you know," she says softly.

I tilt my head a little so that my cheek is gently cushioned on the top of her head. It's stupid, but I really don't want to let go. She's right there, the smell of her conditioner, the warmth of her body against mine and I just want to stay right here and pretend like we're not in the back of a room full of people.

My body jolts when I'm pulled out of my musings by the sudden feel of her hand on the bare skin of my lower back, her hand having slipped under my hoodie and shirt, fingers dancing along my heated skin.

"You have work to do," I murmur softly.

Her hand stops its movement before nails lightly scrape over my skin and I hiss, trying to fight back the full body shudder that wants to run through me. I lean my head back a little to look down at Franny, who glances up at me, heat in her eyes and a smirk switching at her lips.

"Watch it," I say. "My self control isn't so good anymore."

Fran leans towards me and I almost want to pull her that tiny bit closer so I can feel her breath against my lips.

"Or is it just that your self control isn't so good around me?" she asks, large brown eyes glistening as she looks up at me.

Well fuck if someone isn't in a mood today.

Slowly my arms pull away from her but the palms of my hands glide along her back and I bite back a smile at the shiver I feel run over her body.

"Stick around and find out," I bite back at her, slipping back into my stool at the back of the art class that is slowly getting started.

I watch as Franny quickly runs around, finishing all the last minute set up. Paint in trays. Charcoal in containers. Pencils labelled and sorted into order. There's a loud hum of conversation floating through the air. The women in the front row have already started to go to town on the wine and little bundles of people are chatting with each other. They obviously do this probably every week and I don't miss how Franny gets pulled into their conversations as she rushes by. How they are familiar with her and friendly. How even one of the much older women in the room gently pats Franny's rosy cheeks and asks if she's been eating okay.

She has a community. Even if she doesn't realize it yet. And as much as it makes me happy to see how much she flourishes in a space like this, it also feels like a shard to the chest. She's happy here, she's got her own found family in this city.

She has no reason to need to go back to the US.

The stool beside me scrapes against the floor as it's pulled to the side and I glance over as Franny sits down.

"You join in on the classes you assist?" I ask.

She shrugs. "The teacher pretty much has everything sorted so she lets me do what I want while the class is in session. Couldn't leave you all alone back here like a saddo."

I roll my eyes as she laughs, flicking her long brown hair out of her face and clasping all her hair up into a grip. Before I can further get distracted by what is technically my ex-girlfriend and start thinking about what it would feel like to make-out right now, I look towards the front of the room where the art teacher is greeting a guy in a robe who then proceeds to take it off.

"Franny," I say quickly. "Fran."

"Hm?" she hums, distracted with setting up her paper. "What is it?"

"There's a naked man."

"Wha-Oh! They must have moved naked night to this week."

I stare at her. "Naked night?"

"I mean like, it's a naked model. He was supposed to be next week but Ruth mentioned scheduling issues..."

"So our day together is going to consist of morning coffee and then staring at a dick for an hour."

"It's actually a two hour class."

"Franny."

A laugh slips past her lips and she tries to cover it with her hand but she takes one look at my face and is set off again.

"It'll be fine," she giggles between words and tugs the paintbrush away from me. Fran points to a set of pencils and charcoal. "It'll be easier with those."

"Easier for me to draw the naked man. Got it."

The class starts and after the teacher goes on and on for about ten minutes I'm still nowhere closer to deciding whether you start drawing with the guy's face or his dick. Five more minutes and I make the executive - albeit slightly prudish - decision to make my drawing dickless. It's really just a circle with what will hopefully be a face inside it and an awkward array of lines that somehow make his body. Why he's lounging in such a difficult fucking position to draw I'll never know.

I glance over at Franny, about to make an offhand and no-doubt childish comment, but pause when I actually catch sight of her. Her brow is tense with concentration and a few pieces of hair have slipped out of the grip which she blows at until she decides to just swipe a hand across her face to bat the strands away. Franny glances up at the model every now and then but for the most part keeps her eyes on the paper once her outline is done. Long, delicate fingers hold the piece of charcoal with such a light touch that I instinctively ease up on pencil.

Each stroke of the charcoal is light, gentle, and never out of place. The concentration in her eyes, in the way she bites at her lip, the slight twitch of her finger before she gets back control. I've never really seen her like that before. So confident in what she's doing that the rest of the world around her doesn't matter, what everyone else is doing isn't even a thought. It's one hell of a good look on her.

Beautiful and confident.

She's trying to fucking kill me.

Franny's eyes glance over at me and catch me staring like an idiot.

"Did you get tired of staring at the naked man?"

There's someone else I'd rather stare at naked.

"Surprisingly, yes," I say.

"You know," Franny says and her voice is so quiet and soft I have to lean towards her so I don't miss something. "There's another type of painting like this. Pretty good for getting rid of tension. Kind of therapeutic."

"Oh yeah?"

"Environmentally friendly too," she says.

"Really?" I snort.

"Yeah," Franny's voice lowers to a whisper and her fingers run over the inside of my wrist. "You just need a body and paint."

She's gonna fucking kill me.

_________

follow me on instagram tahliepurvisauthor